A Lesson in Anatomy
by Thrillzone
Summary: There is something about the cephalopod body that only a sponge can fix. (Aka: want your childhood ruined? Read this. Explicit Squidbob sex ahoy.)


Something was not right.

Of course, this was _Squidward's_ life and by universal decree, things _never_ went right. But apparently even today, life going to deny him his most basic needs, too.

"Where is it, where is it—Neptune, where did I put that darn—" His frantic muttering continued as he scrambled around his bathroom, scattering all of its contents and doing everything just short of ripping out the tiles. His rubber duck squeaked as he kicked it aside, expensive shampoo bottles rolling away and scarcely avoiding the squelch of his tentacle feet.

He moved on to the medicine cabinet, which held a few strange bottles of its own. "Rogaine," Squidward said out loud, staring at the label in bemusement. "I find _this_ after ten long years yet I can't find the loofah I used just last month?!" He threw down the tonic, and, in typical fashion, it bounced off the floor (defying at least two laws of physics) and hit him square in the face.

He grunted in pain, tentacle immediately flying up to rub his aching nose. His suction cups came back unusually sticky, which only served to deepen the frown on his face.

"What the," he grumbled. There was something pink dripping from his hand, and a cool sensation swept over his nose, and brought with it a familiar scent.

"Why is there strawberry ice cream on that bottle? I've never even-"

In the middle of asking himself that question, the answer sprang to mind.

He felt stupid having wondered in the first place.

His eyes narrowed.

"PATRICK!"

"…So as you can see, by using your loofah as a makeshift carburetor, I managed to increase the thread count of my bed by converting wind energy into a piezoelectrical gradient that altered the texture of my sheets, and thus my sleep went undisturbed for several hours."

He felt very close to slapping the grin off the dimwit's face. Whether it was the Patrick who had bizarre five-second bursts of intelligence or the Patrick with slower reflexes than a comatose patient, it didn't matter. Neither version ever made sense. And as much as he loved resorting to violence, the desire to be the bigger man won out. And the bigger man always settled things by yelling as loud as they could. Naturally.

"You only use carburetors for boats, numbskull!" He shrieked. "Nothing about your bed is mechanical in ANY way, and sartorial details like thread counts don't matter either because it's MADE. OF. SAND!"

"Oh." Patrick scratched his head with a pudgy arm. "But it worked!" He folded his arms and stuck his tongue out petulantly. "So I guess I'm right, and you're wrong."

"You know what, just… Nevermind." He wasn't in the mood to have his brain snap in half today. "Just give me back my loofah."

"I can't, Squidward, duh. It melted after the metabolic reaction between the polyurethane and the silicate." And Patrick had the audacity to glance at him as if _he_ was the idiot. "I dunno why your loofah wasn't a normal cotton loofah, anyway."

"It was a special loofah, made specifically for people like me! I NEED IT! NOW!" The starfish continued to look unperturbed, merely blinking.

"Oh… What's a loofah again?"

"You—GAH!" Squidward stomped off, to preserve the last fringes of his own sanity.

He slammed the door and, in typical melodramatic fashion, slid down to the floor with his back against the mahogany. He was close to dissolving into tears. The sensation had been easy to ignore all morning, but he could feel it: the gradually increasing ache that was spreading, even to the tips of his lower tentacles. It was morphing into a slow burn that now had even his stomach feeling like it was twisted in knots. He shuddered at the potential consequences of this. Waiting too long would spell out nothing but trouble.

And a lot of embarrassment.

"How am I gonna de-ink myself now?" He mumbled into his hands, knees drawn up to his chest. This was a disaster waiting to happen.

"Maybe if I…"

He raised a tentacle curiously, studying his own suckers like he'd never seen them before. Really, it's not as if using them for that purpose was… Unheard of. It just wasn't brought up in everyday conversation. Ever. But then, octopuses had more limbs than they knew what to do with. Surely one would be sufficient to get the job done? It's not like their species' evolutionary chain had come to this point wherein they now completely had to rely on loofahs, right? They weren't that important. Just considered an essential.

In every home kit.

And every emergency kit.

And every wallet (if it could fit).

Squidward curled his tentacle tip into a fist, and the familiar squelching sound broke the silence, an involuntary shudder rippling through him as he considered what he was about to do. There was another jolt somewhere below his waist and he felt it more strongly than ever – the discomforting sensation of fullness, from not being able to remove the ink. His body was telling him to act now.

He had no choice.

Steeling himself, the cephalopod locked all the doors and slammed every window of his house shut at lightning speed (it was a habit at this point, considering who exactly his neighbors happened to be) before racing up the stairs to his bedroom.

It was a struggle just to make himself comfortable on his own bed. The warmth rooted in his innards had spread down to the soles of his feet, and the sensation was quickly becoming unbearable. Straightening out his many legs, Squidward stretched himself and laid back against the pillows, and experimentally reached downward with one forelimb. He spread his tentacles slightly to accommodate their new companion: a limb much more dexterous and muscular from years of conditioned exchanging of money back and forth at the register, which meant it wasn't very muscular at all.

But it would do. It would _have_ to do.

Squidward bit his lip. Fitting it in was easy – tentacles could innately squeeze into anything, after all. Despite never really having done this before, he detected an unusual slipperiness in his inner walls, which were lined with excess ink. Still, his tentacle wormed its way through, inching forward blindly. Deeper and deeper. He felt like a tightly wound ball of nothing but shame and that needed to be unraveled. This whole problem would be fixed in an instant if he could just reach –

Surges of pain radiated from where his tentacle had jolted too hard, too fast, and in a space far too narrow. The contact was beginning to sting, but he paid no mind to the ache as he explored himself further. Any pinpricks of pleasure were similarly ignored. Suddenly, all sensations ground to a halt when he felt his tentacle come in contact with something moist, but thick and unyielding: an apparent obstruction.

Just like he had thought. His ink sac was clogged. Now he had to remove the ink somehow, using only his tentacle.

Which soon proved to be impossible. He felt like an idiot, swiping at the ink but only serving to cause himself more pain as his nether regions felt strained due to the unfamiliar intrusion. His wrist was hurting now, too. Squidward briefly contemplated scraping the ink out, and shuddered at the image conjured in his mind as a result. His suction cups had caught on to something, though, so he hauled back, hissing in pain as he dragged out his tentacle. It was covered in black ooze, dark bubbles capping his suction cups.

He felt no lighter.

In fact, seeing how much ink he had hauled out – and how it was nothing compared to the amount still backed up in there – was horrifying.

"What now?" He muttered forlornly, staring at his black-coated hand.

"Hey Squidward, need some help?"

There was a flash of yellow. A smiling face, all blue eyes and buck teeth, popped up at the foot of his bed and promptly gave him a heart attack. He screeched, arms flailing instinctively, before he realized just who it was.

"How many times," He snapped, rounding on the intruder. "Did I tell you to STAY," he said, voice growing louder in volume as he poked a spot between the sponge's eyes. "AWAY," He yelled, booting his neighbor through the bedroom door. A square-shaped hole was left in his place, but the poriferan quickly popped back in through it, grin intact. "And don't," Squidward shot, closing the distance between them again. "Give me the exact number of times. Just please."

He wrenched the bedroom door open, ignoring the missing planks of wood in its center, and closed his eyes wearily as he beckoned toward the hallway.

"Leave."

Naturally, Spongebob remained completely unphased .

"But you obviously have a problem and I know—"

"Spongebob, pretend you saw nothing. Turn around and go."

"But—" Squidward had enough. Well, had enough of having had enough. He settled for trying to push Spongebob out instead.

"Squidward, I can fix it!" The other pleaded in his usual shrill, high-pitched tone.

"What would you know about the anatomical caveats of an octopus?" He grunted, still trying to coax him out of his house, or at least his bedroom (he would've settled for that), but Spongebob dug his heels into the floor, leaving scrapes that would definitely have to be buffed out later, because the last thing he was going for with his thoughtfully decorated house was a rustic feel.

Great, Squidward thought inwardly. Now he had both a medical and an architectural crisis.

In true form, Spongebob started to babble. "I know enough to notice that on the third of every month, you gotta de-ink using your loofah, and that's the only way to get the job done or else you'll explode!" And to accentuate his point, the sponge did indeed blow up on the spot with a loud pop. Squidward checked his watch impatiently until the yellow pieces strewn about his bedroom melded back together, the stupid buck-tooth grin becoming recognizable once more.

"How did you find about this?"

"I watch you all the time, silly!"

It was at that point that Squidward proceeded to try and force him out through the window instead. But square things just weren't meant to go in round holes. "No, stop! I can help!" Spongebob cried out, gripping the window sill.

"Believe me, Spongebob," he grumbled back as he continued to push. "You can't!"

"But I'm all sponge! I'm better than a loofah. Oh, please, please, please Squidward, give me a chance!" He was clinging to Squidward's legs like they were a lifeline, and sobbing pathetically. It was irritating, and Squidward knew, deep down, that Spongebob probably had some terrible scheme that would go up in flames and render him in an even worse place than before, if he were to go along with it.

No, he was not going to allow it.

Definitely not.

 _Just kick him out, Squidward,_ he told himself.

Spongebob was still crying. Squidward paused.

"I just know I'm gonna regret hearing this but fine, I'll bite. How do you think you can help me?"

Oh, fishpaste. What had he done?

There was a gleam in Spongebob's eye as he wiggled his fingers in Squidward's face. "With these, of course!" All the cephalopod could do was stare, slack-jawed.

"What's the matter, not enough? 'Cause I've got more." And to demonstrate his one-of-a-kind dexterity, Spongebob began pulling arms out of his sleeves, literally left and right, until there were a clutter of them all over the floor.

"Cut that out," Squidward ordered, kicking a few of them away with disgust. "You have no idea what this act entails. So for both of our sakes, you should just get ou—"

"Trust me, Squid, I know exactly what to do. They don't call me Spongebob Tantalizing-Fingers for nothing!" Spongebob waggled his eyebrows in a manner clearly meant to be suggestive, but instead it just resembled an oculomotor disorder.

"Or was it 'Twiddly-fingers'? I forgot which. Anyway, let's have a look at your little problem."

Spongebob tossed him unceremoniously back on his bed before he could protest, and was already kneeling before him, wrenching his knees apart while all he could do was sputter indignantly. He yelped as he felt fingers enter him, and looked up to see Spongebob's face screwed up in concentration, tongue jutting out on the side of his mouth. Mercilessly, his fingers poked and prodded Squidward's insides, rummaging in a manner that was too reminiscent of Mr. Krabs searching for spare change in between floorboards.

"Mm-hmmm," he hummed, expression stilled and looking deep in thought. But his digits were relentless, grappling and grabbing who-knows-what. Squidward cringed at the reckless invasion.

"Spongebob, are you trying to play rock, paper, scissors in there? Watch where you're poking!" He said shrilly. For that one moment, irritation overpowered embarrassment.

"Oops. Sorry Squidward. But I think I got it. I…" His eyes widened, and Squidward felt fingers halt at that now familiar obstructed space. "Woah, this is a lot more than I expected. It's a good thing I've got another helping hand." Spongebob proceeded to pull his arm out, then used to it to grip his other arm, before tearing it off at the sleeve and brandishing it like a weapon. The way he smirked afterward, with the confidence of someone who did stuff like that on the regular, spoke volumes.

"Alright, I've had enough!" He pushed Spongebob off, causing him to land on the floor with a plonking noise.

"But I wasn't done! And there's…" Spongebob raised his stained hands. "… I think there's even more ink than before!"

Squidward clutched his knees, trying to draw his body as far away from him as possible. His face felt hot. Dear Neptune, he was _blushing_. "Well, what do you expect when you keep poking and prodding like that? It's a normal body reaction, you buffoon!" He always hated those moments – the ones wherein Spongebob would zone out, and stare at him, frozen, with huge round eyes, probably thinking up of more ways to ruin his life. Such a moment was going on right now. He let out a huff of anger. Spongebob merely blinked.

"This is hopeless! With my loofah all I had to do was stick it in, let it absorb the ink for a few minutes and then I'd be done. De-inking complete, just like that. But your genius friend Patrick just had to steal it, and now my ink's getting impacted, and _you_ , as usual, _make everything worse_."

Spongebob began hauling himself back onto the bed. He was at the edge of it, almost close enough to kick, which Squidward had been contemplating doing just then when he spoke. "You're right, Squidward. It's my fault. Admittedly, compared to the rest of me, my fingers have never had the same absorption capacity." He raised said wilted digits for emphasis. "But that overly-long exposition-laden rant of yours gave me an idea. I can multiply by budding so I generally have no use for a knick-knack like this but it'll do the trick for you, for sure!"

And in one fluid movement, Spongebob clambered onto the sheets, stood up straight, and tore off his trademark pants.

At first, it was nothing Squidward hadn't seen before. For whatever reason, Spongebob tended to get naked around him a lot. Seeing that breathing yellow box in all its flat, genital-less glory was just another fixture in his life that he had grown to accept, and thus the image made no impression whatsoever. That is, until Spongebob hunched over, fists balled, and scrunched his face up, straining with audible intensity. He grunted and groaned until a protuberance sprang from his crotch.

It was a spongy, yellow dick. Staring at him right in the face. Having popped up out of nowhere like a monster in a B-horror movie, yet Spongebob had called it a 'knick-knack'.

"Pretty cool, eh?"

Spongebob was too busy gyrating and wiggling his pelvic region when Squidward recovered enough to punt him out through the window. Now that only jagged shards of glass were left, he would have to replace the entire pane, but in his opinion, an opportunity like that was always worth the expense.

After sufficiently bleaching his eyeballs, he had no choice but to go to bed early and twist about under the sheets, pain growing worse with every passing minute. Hours came and went. It was practically midnight when his legs began to cramp up, too, with the warmth in his belly worsening into a searing numbness that left his entire body shaking. Sweat was dripping everywhere, and he didn't want to look down and see if he'd started to leak. With enough time the ink would begin to trickle out and ruin his expensive sheets.

Or maybe his ink sac would just explode from the pressure and kill him, destroying his house in the process. He couldn't believe that out of all eventualities, he was actually going to die like this. At least, for once, Spongebob wouldn't be involved…

Spongebob.

Squidward shuddered just remembering their earlier encounter.

Spongebob, with his annoying laugh and excruciating neighbor habits, had offered to bang him.

 _Spongebob_. Who should have been jailed for arson, trespassing, robbery and sexual harassment a long time ago.

Who was full of holes and made to _absorb_.

What an idiot. How could he even _think_ -

Squidward's thoughts were interrupted by more churning, and he groaned and curled his body inward. He couldn't stop the cry that tore from his throat as another jolt of pain ripped through his abdomen.

This was agony.

He reached for the phone with a shaking tentacle.

Barely a quarter of a ring later, the call was answered. He tried not to think about the fact that his neighbor had been sitting by the phone, _waiting_ for him all night. "S-Spongebob?"

"Yes, Squidward?"

He bit his lip. Was he really going to sink this low?

"…Squidward?" Spongebob repeated in a lower tone. Something told him that the sponge knew exactly what he was going to ask.

"…You and your prick better get over here. _Right now._ "

"Hooray!"

In a fraction of a second, his neighbor shot through the window like a bullet, making Squidward yell in surprise and draw up the sheets to his face.

He was decked out in a very intricate robe, a cigar hanging from his mouth. There was an unnatural sheen to his yellow skin that made him looked, well, lubricated. "Lovely evening, isn't it, Squidward ol' boy?" Squidward cringed when he caught a whiff of his scent. The idiot had bathed in baby oil, for some reason. He was literally gleaming – expression and flesh and disposition and all, and it only irritated him more.

"Why are you covered in baby oil?"

Spongebob shrugged and merely said, "The convenience store was all out of petroleum jelly." It answered none of his questions.

He threw off the blankets, no longer bashful about exposing his body.

"Cut the chit-chat Spongebob," he snapped, frown firmly in place. "Look: I just need you to get in there, absorb all the ink, then get out. We will not speak. We will not physically interact with each other any more than necessary. We won't even make eye contact. Let me establish right now that this. Is not. For pleasure. None of it. And no matter what sounds I make, no matter if I scream, or beg, it's not because I want you. It'll be a normal bodily reaction due to the stimulation of—" Spongebob was doing that blank stare again. Squidward sighed, sat back against the pillows. He crossed his arms while parting his legs. "Oh, just go to town already."

He couldn't stop the noise of protest that left him as Spongebob did as he was told a little too eagerly, rushing toward him like a starving anchovy. He squeezed his way in between each pair of Squidward's legs, which was about as awkward as he'd imagined given that Spongebob had roughly the same build as a boat. But silently accepting his fate, he stretched his legs some more to accommodate his neighbor (now bed partner) who was already lining up at his entrance. _When had he even gotten naked?_ Spongebob's lack of hesitation was unnerving, but (given his suspicious actions over the years) not exactly unexpected at this point.

"Keep going, keep going, keep going…" He murmured as Spongebob began inching forward on his knees.

"Hey Squidward," he said, after barely a nudge. "Am I there yet?"

"I don't even feel—"

"Hey, I think I'm in. Oops. Nevermind. I missed." Squidward felt something firm slide against one of his thighs. He cringed.

"Um – getting close—whoops, missed again." Spongebob looked up at him with a sheepish grin. One hand was sitting comfortably on Squidward's knee, the other reaching down to (presumably) correct his trajectory. So far, this was looking to be exactly the kind of sex Squidward imagined having with Spongebob. _Not_ that he'd imagined it before but—oh, never mind.

"Mind your aim or you'll end up giving me a lobotomy!"

"Like the one Patrick had when he was a kid?"

"Figures…"

"I think I got it! I'm moving in!" He squeezed his eyes shut, squirming at the newfound pressure against his hole. _This is nothing,_ he thought desperately. _Just a clinical procedure, nothing more._

"Moooving in!" Spongebob repeated unnecessarily, after shifting forward by one centimeter. Then he suddenly paused, and stared with a look of uncertainty. "Uh, are you sure it's gonna fit?"

"I'll manage," he said, trying to convince himself more so than anyone. "Now just… Keep moving. _Slowly_." His hands balled into fists as Spongebob pushed once more, making unattractive grunting noises all the while. His dick was entering him, and he had a sickening realization then and there that Spongebob was a lot thicker than your average loofah. He bit back a groan of pain and screwed his eyes shut, hoping that his nether regions would be able to accommodate a much larger girth. To make matters worse, the pain brought along with it bursts of pleasure. Waves of dizziness consumed him as his body was driven haywire by one living, yellow, spongy dick.

"Guh," was all he said – rather, was all he allowed himself to say when Spongebob was halfway in, sending electricity bounding up his spine. He was quivering, and hopefully Spongebob wouldn't notice, despite having a steely grip on his knee. Squidward decided he would look anywhere except at Spongebob's face. He decided to focus on the pale white knuckles gripping his leg. It was slightly comforting knowing that Spongebob was nervous, too.

He couldn't suppress the groan as the other male crept forward again. His legs shook, but his body turned traitor and stretched around Spongebob (as painful as it was), greedily pulling him further inside. Squidward accidentally looked up and saw Spongebob staring at him expectantly from under his thick lashes, watching every reaction. So he immediately averted his gaze.

"Hurry up," he snapped, impatiently bumping Spongebob's sides with his legs.

"Um, I think I've reached your ink sac already."

"No, you gotta go deeper." Even in these moments, it was difficult to refrain from tacking on 'you imbecile' at the end.

He winced at the squelching noise, at Spongebob flopping forward into him. This was all so, so disgusting, wrong and _amazing_.

Wait. What?

Squidward's eyes flew open and every nerve that had been objecting to Spongebob's permeation beforehand seemed to change its mind and instead clamor for more. He felt warm, no longer the burning from earlier but the unfamiliar kind that had him suppressing the urge to loudly voice out his approval.

"Oh, I'm starting to feel it now!" Spongebob was literally vibrating with excitement. And the worst part was that Squidward could sense every twitch. The mattress wobbled. He couldn't help but rubbed at his forehead exasperatedly as sweat gathered at his brow.

He swallowed audibly as he felt another shock – it must have been true, that Spongebob had reached his clogged ink sac. He was buried to the hilt, and his square body was squished and appeared more convex from being boxed in between Squidward's thighs.

It should have been painful, being stretched so wide. It was _nothing_ like his loofah, which was soft, a lot more collapsible and barely made its presence known while inside him. This, however, was impossible to ignore. A huge chunk of living sponge was nudging the deepest parts of him and sparking bizarre reflexes that had never been triggered before. He fit in almost _too_ perfectly. Had any cephalopod and sponge ever even done this before? He almost wanted to ask Spongebob to…

He scoffed, banishing all those traitorous thoughts to the back part of his brain. _Spongebob's here for one reason and one reason only, dammit._

"Hold still, Spongebrain. You need to get all of it." To Spongebob's credit, he went still as a board. Squidward felt the tension leave his shoulders when, after a few seconds, he felt the slow trickle of ink beginning to flow. The ink clogged inside was beginning to soften, and he was already starting to feel less burdened. _So there are advantages to knowing someone absorbent and porous after all,_ he thought. A channel had just opened, and the ink was diffusing, being sucked out of his ink sac and right into—well, it was less traumatic when he didn't think about the specifics too much.

"I'm absorbing it!" Spongebob announced with the same tone he used for telling customers their Krabby Patties were looked extremely proud of himself. His eyes widened and his buck teeth were on full display. "Wo-ow, THIS FEELS AMAZING!"

"Pipe down! Don't let anyone hear—"

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOO—"

Less than forty feet away, a starfish was rubbing his eyes sleepily, having been awoken by the noise.

"I wonder why Spongebob is over at Squidward's house at 1 AM and yelling in ecstasy." Patrick shrugged. And then, his eyes widened in realization. "Holy shrimp!"

"They must be… Playing eels and escalators! And it sure sounds like Spongebob's winning!"

Laying back down on his bed, he drifted off to sleep.

"I wish I could play, too…"

"Are you finished?" His ears were still ringing from Spongebob's caterwauling. He crossed his arms, and tried to look as threatening as possible, but it was difficult when your target was less than a foot away and buried deep inside you.

 _Deep_ was apparently an understatement. Spongebob was so far inside that Squidward was doing everything in his power not to make a sound.

"Um, I think it's all done now. I'm not absorbing anymore." He was probably right, as most of the pain was gone, leaving behind only traces of numbness and the tingling sensation of being overstretched. His nerves were on fire, protesting Spongebob's heavily increased girth. It was starting to feel like he'd stuck a cork up there.

"Then pull out. Hurry up," he urged, tone strained. Nothing happened and he kept waiting for the pressure to finally leave. "I said pull out."

"Um…" Spongebob squirmed, but nothing in there seemed to move. Only rotate in ways that felt more gratifying than he'd care to admit. "I'm trying." He sort of wiggled again, and Squidward hoped his deathgrip on the sheets wasn't so noticeable. "Uh-oh." Uh-oh was not a good sound. The last few times Spongebob had said 'uh-oh', Bikini Bottom had ended up in ruins. And now it was _his_ bottom in jeopardy.

"Oh, for Neptune's sake – what now?"

"I'm too swollen. I mean, I can move a bit but—" He twisted once more to demonstrate, and it was torture. Pure, magnificent torture that made him buck his hips and sigh in what he hoped sounded like one of exasperation (but was really just a happy sigh). He squeezed his eyes shut out of sheer mortification.

"Hold still, Spongebob," he replied through gritted teeth. "Or you'll be death of me."

"Say, do you think Mr. Krabs will mind too much if we showed up to work tomorrow like this?"

And all pleasure left in an instant just from imagining his crappy _job_ , and worse, imagining this lasting until tomorrow morning until said crappy job started. "Get off!" he protested, grabbing Spongebob's sides and trying to wrench him out.

"I can't, Squidward, I can't – Owww! OWW!" And he wanted to scream in pain, too, because with every time he shoved Spongebob, his insides ran the risk of getting scrambled. His ink sac was clogged again, only now in an entirely different way, with Spongebob's dick practically screwed into him like a lightbulb.

Less than forty feet away, the same starfish mumbled in his sleep: "Boy, Squidward sure is a sore loser…"

"Great. We're stuck. How did I not see this coming?"

"All this absorbing is making me kind of thirsty. Hey, isn't that ironic?" He refused to answer, and the two sat in awkward silence for almost a minute, Spongebob staring at him dumbly. At least he actively tried to think of a solution, whereas Spongebob clearly wasn't thinking at all. "Squidward? Squidward, it's starting to ache," he whined.

"Yeah, well how do I think I feel!"

"And I'm still thirsty."

"Forget the water. I can't even feel anything below my waist any—" He was interrupted when Spongebob shifted in a manner intended to render him speechless. And it nearly worked. "-Ohhh, what'd you do that for?!"

He giggled. "Ha, ha, well you said you can't feel anything below the waist so I proved you wrong!"

"This isn't a joke. We have to think of somethiiiiIII—" He let out a strangled yell as Spongebob did that weird movement again. "—IIiiiing I said _stop moving_!"

Spongebob shrugged, grinning slyly. "Sorry, Squidward, but all this tension is making me feel kinda tingly. I have this sudden urge to empty myself now, too. And I don't even have an ink sac!" He punctuated his words that annoying cackle of his. It was then that Squidward got an idea. A horrible, terrible, worst-he's-ever-had idea.

"Spongebob, when was the last time you got off?"

The sponge blinked, his blue eyes shining even in the dark. All this time, and only now had Squidward noticed that their faces were only inches apart. It was terrifying how fast he'd gotten used to being in this position.

"Got off what? Like, got off of a seahorse?"

"I meant, when was the last time you…" He struggled to form the appropriately inappropriate words. "…Slapped the seamonkey?"

"Why would I slap a seamonkey? They're kind, innocent creatures." Spongebob retorted, tearing up.

He slapped at his own forehead exasperatedly. "Oh, for Neptune—I'm talking about masturbating, you nitwit."

"Oh." There was silence for a few seconds. And then: "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that seems like a kind of a personal thing to ask, don't you think?"

"You think that question is too… Personal?" Squidward looked down, eyeing their attached body parts ruefully.

"Fine, I'll tell you." Spongebob sat back on his haunches with a grin, his reluctance from a nanosecond ago gone. He shifted in a way that shot pinpricks of pleasure through Squidward, who simply squirmed and made a sound of protest. "It was seven years ago, at the Krusty Krab, I was on a two-minute lunch break, you were asleep at the register and—"

"You know what, I just realized that I don't want to know. Look, I think I figured out a way you can pull out. You've absorbed a lot of my ink, right?" Spongebob nodded. "Well, right now you're full of ink down there, but there's also something else that's making you stay swollen like that. And I need you to… Spew it out."

"Spew out what?"

Squidward tried to choose his next words carefully. Talking to Spongebob was a daily challenge he'd (despite years of practice) had yet to master, because you had to take into account that this person was supposed to be your equal, your neighbor, your co-worker. And yet you also had to take into account that he was dumb as a rock and often had the mental capacity of a three-year-old with head trauma.

"Your… Your special sauce."

"Squid, the Krusty Krab manual section fifty-two C states that we have to keep all the special sauce in the cupboard at the Krusty Krab, you and I both know that."

"I need you to… I need you to…" He dragged Spongebob close, and whispered in his ear. " _Come._ " Spongebob gasped.

"But Squidward!"

"We have no choice," he said grimly.

"I… I can't!" The idea of it was apparently so tragic it was making him cry. Spongebob sniffled in that usual irritatingly earnest way. "I can't do that knowing you won't enjoy any second of it!"

He tried to not roll his eyes or respond with a sarcastic comment, but failed spectacularly on both counts. "Oh, don't worry. I'll survive somehow."

"Therefore!" Spongebob's hand shot up, index finger pointing upward. A determined expression materialized on his broad face. "I'll make SURE I give you the pleasure you deserve so that we both achieve ecstasy together!"

Squidward's eyes widened. "Wait, wha—"

"PREPARE FOR THE RIDE OF YOUR LIFE! All aboard the Squarepants Express!" And he did some sort of yodeling battle cry and an imitation of a steam engine train. Of course he did.

"S-sponge—"

After that, everything was a blur. Or at least that's what Squidward told himself because he certainly _didn't_ scream out a certain name that rhymed with _'lunge hob bare plants'_ and he was willing to swear by that in court. And he certainly _didn't_ realize he was having the greatest sex of his life with his dreaded neighbor of all people, whose thrusts could only accurately be measured in seahorsepower.

His mind had emptied of almost everything – apparently sponges could fuck you stupid, or passed on their stupidity via coitus (now wouldn't that be something) – which meant he forgot for a moment that he that he was a cashier at the lousiest restaurant in a hick town rather than a world class artist. Which meant that, all things considered, this was actually pretty enjoyable. Which meant that he was, for once, _happy_. Which meant he could focus on the myriad sensations being inflicted on him by his annoyingly multi-talented neighbor, whose skills also now apparently included having an amazing sexual prowess.

More reason to _hate_ him.

Squidward inwardly wondered why all his sexual encounters seemed to involve hatesex of some kind. A familiar unibrow drifted into memory – and he was reminded of a sordid incident in band camp of high school, but the image faded into the grinning, freckled yellow face before him. And that's when he remembered that, dammit, why did his life _suck so much_.

"Squidward, what are you doing?"

Wrapping his legs around Spongebob – it felt wrong, so off and bizarre, like hugging a cardboard box. His tentacles managed to round those sharp corners, anyway. Thank you, innate cephalopod hyperflexibility. He wondered if anyone had ever managed this before, to encompass the sheer mass of Spongebob.

 _No, Squiddy, don't hurt yourself further by contemplating Spongebob's sex life_.

"You think I'm just gonna take this lying down?" He finally said. It wasn't fair that he was the one getting stuffed. It wasn't fair that he was getting stuffed by _Spongebob_. He tightened his grip, one tentacle hooking onto a hole near Spongebob's face.

"My lucky pore," Spongebob gasped, wide-eyed. "Ooh, Squidward, you don't know how sensitive that is!"

"Oh, _really?_ " For the first time that night, Squidward felt his lips curl upward into a smirk. He prodded the hole further, and then forced his tentacle in. It was a snug fit. One that made Spongebob's eyes roll back into his head. For once, he was the one who looked overwhelmed.

Admittedly, it wasn't a horrible look.

"Are you a snail or a sponge?" Squidward spurred him on further with his tentacles. Each one soon found its own poriferan holes to fill. "Faster," he ordered, and tightened his hold. The other male whimpered as he provided his own ministrations, pressing into Spongebob's craters relentlessly. The bodies of sponges and cephalopods were more compatible than he thought.

"Squidwaaard," And he could feel Spongebob swelling almost impossibly huge. As if he hadn't felt over-stretched already, the sensitive nerves in his nether regions exploded with newfound pain. _It was okay,_ he thought dimly. It wouldn't be the first time he got ripped in half or blown up, anyway.

"It feels so goooood!" Spongebob wailed in a quivering tone. And Squidward relished in it, that he was in charge for once and eroding the other's sanity like Spongebob did his on a daily basis. He smirked as he took in Spongebob's litany of expressions. His pupils couldn't seem to focus and he shook so much his teeth practically chattered, dimples redder and more pronounced, his tongue dark with-

"HOLY—" Squidward practically shrieked in surprise, bucking wildly (which hurt the both of them; they were still stuck together like a Chinese finger trap). Ink was leaking out of Spongebob's eyes and pores, and his tongue had a distinct dark tint to it.

"T-too much! You've taken in too much ink!" He tried to tell Spongebob desperately, grasping onto his forearms as black sludge seeped down the tentacles that were still plugged into his pores. Spongebob, still caught in the throes of passion, didn't seem to notice a thing, so he kept going.

"Hey, can I come yet?" He asked cheerfully and drove his length deeper into Squidward and, in doing so, wrangled some rather embarrassing noises from him.

"Spongebob, you—" Spongebob persisted, even while black ink trickled down from his eyelids. If there was any reason that cephalopods and sponges weren't meant fornicate, it was _that._

"Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet? Can I come yet?"

"YES!" It wasn't meant to be a response to his repetitive questioning. If anything, Squidward was merely involuntarily commending Spongebob's efficiency in providing him with what was certainly the greatest experience available to cephalopodkind.

That was all, really.

Spongebob came, and came _hard_ , and to Squidward's chagrin, he felt himself being filled by fluid that was definitely not his own this time. It shot into him, coating everything inside, and if that wasn't bad enough, he looked down and saw a noticeable swelling in his normally flat abdomen. His sac had filled up with entirely different contents and this was the result. _Curse you rudimentary invertebrate physiology!_

That's when both their anatomies went completely haywire. Spongebob appeared to have noticed the weird bit about inflation because his eyes bugged out of their sockets and his torso went limp. Squidward's tentacles slipped out of the craters as the sponge teetered backwards like a freshly chopped coral tree.

"What the—" Squidward gasped. A still firm, swollen part of Spongebob's anatomy was left behind as Spongebob collapsed backwards in a dead faint. Squidward screamed as the effects of overstimulation finally made themselves known. A jet of ink shot out, or at least tried to, but with nowhere to go it simply pushed Spongebob's fluids out and diffused into the detached member still plugged into him. It was threatening to swell again, and Squidward shouted as he tore it out, throwing it against the wall like it were a dangerous weapon. It bounced with an innocent squeak and landed on the floor.

Now that nothing was blocking his entrance, a torrent of liquid – mixed trails of black and white - seeped out of the octopus, who watched, frozen, as he was reminded of the fact that he was being emptied of DNA. Spongebob's DNA, to be exact. When he got his heart rate back under control, he rounded on the prone form that was still hogging his bed.

"If you could detach it then why didn't you just do that earlier?!"

Spongebob opened his eyes and scratched his head. "Guess I forgot…" His words were slurred and he was staring at the ceiling. "You can keep that, by the way." He gestured vaguely toward the yellow shaft on the floor. "I can just make another…" And despite his sluggishness, it took only a few seconds of pained grunting and pelvic thrusting for another dick to spring out of his crotch with a boing. "See?"

Squidward stared with wide eyes. Only one sentence kept repeating in his mind: _'I just had sex with this creature.'_

"Hey, neat!" With a renewed burst of energy, Spongebob sprang up and swirled a finger in their combined fluids. "It's like cookies and cream!"

Squidward stared some more. He wondered whether he should jump out the window, but the distance from the ground would be around ten feet – only enough to break his legs.

"Phew, that was fun! Hope you're feeling better." Spongebob stretched his arms overhead and yawned. "I'm bushed," he added, rubbing his eyes. And without any prompting, crawled over to Squidward's side, closed his eyes and started snoring.

"Get out of my—oh, what the heck. My reputation was ruined the day I met you."

"Morning, Squidward. Ready to go to work?" Squidward opened one eye. He felt a skinny arm wrapped around his middle, and remembered that last night's events dictated that this was not going to be a good day. So he started it off by ripping off Spongebob's arm and tossing it. The sponge, who had been watching him sleep (as usual) rose to a sitting position and another arm popped out of his sleeve. He was smiling.

Squidward frowned.

"Spongebob? Before anything else, we need to talk."

"Ooh!" Spongebob cooed, his eyes shining. "Is this the part where we talk about pillows? Because my favorite is the memory pillow, which—"

"No! Look – no one must know about this, alright? Don't. Tell. Anyone. From this day onward, none of last night ever happened. You're going to be annoying as usual, and I'm going to be the patient, tolerant, kind Samaritan who has to put up with all your irritating habits and we're going to act like…" He fought off the blush that had brought along with it a slew of images from last night. Many, many 'oh-wow-do-that-AGAIN-Spongebob'-like images that he wanted very much to forget.

Bravely, he soldiered on with his speech. "Like our genitals have never been within a five mile radius of each other. Like we didn't just share a bed, like you didn't spend the night at my house, like we're not covered in each other's DNA. Like we didn't have sex. Okay?"

"Um, Squidward, we didn't have sex." Spongebob's mouth was a thin line. He looked quizzical.

"Exactly. I'm glad you understand."

"No, I mean, that wasn't sex at all! Sex is when you take off your underpants and play tug of war with the blanket, silly!"

Squidward could feel the vein starting its daily throb in his forehead already. It was far too early for this. "Who told you that?!"

"Mr. Krabs did! I went to visit him at night once to formally request that I come to the Krusty Krab an hour earlier for the rest of my career and I walked in on him and Mrs. Puff in the living and room and he was all, _'Arr, me boy, it's not what you think!'_ and he took me aside and told me that they were just rolling around the sofa locked in an intense game of stationary tag, and how that ISN'T sex… Because… Sex is actually –" Realization seemed to dawn on him then and there. "Oh, Barnacle."

"Spongebob…" Squidward said slowly. And condescendingly. "I'm gonna say it one more time and _then_ we'll pretend it never happened. You," He prodded. "And me," He said with a tap of his own chest. "As much as I hate to admit, we… Screwed. Had sexual intercourse. Did the horizontal tango. I had s…sex. With you. I had sex with Spongebob Squarepants." The words tasted like chum in his mouth. _I had sex with Spongebob and he topped._

"W-we had sex?" Spongebob asked, his voice trembling.

"Don't get all choked up on me now! It was consensual!"

"We had sex," Spongebob repeated, as if testing the new words on his tongue. "B-but…" His expression turned frantic. He grabbed at the imaginary hairs on his head. " I… Didn't… USE A CONDOM!"

"You know about condoms but not about actual intercourse?"

"Well, of course!" He said, as if Squidward was the moron here. "Sex education is a mandatory class in boating school. I've also had to retake it for every time I failed my boating exam. I even have the lecture memorized and… We weren't safe!"

A stream of bubbles emanated from his pores, which was a telltale sign that Spongebob was starting to hyperventilate. Or filter feed. Squidward honestly didn't know or care. "DEAR NEPTUNE WE WEREN'T SAFE! What have I done?!"

"Spongebob! Calm down!"

"I haven't been tested! You don't know what sort of sexually transmitted diseases I could be riddled with! And I've just given all of them to you! I've just signed your death warrant!" He dropped to his knees and wrung his hands in dramatic fashion. "Oh Squidward, please forgive me!"

"Spongebob—"

"The first rule of sex ed is to be safe, Mrs. Puff said! Wear a condom, she said! Avoid spreading zoonotic diseases, she said! It'll prevent interspecies chromosomal aberrations, she said! AND I DIDN'T LISTEN!" Before Spongebob could start running around the room panicking, Squidward hesitantly grabbed him by the arm. This was the most awkward pillowtalk he'd ever experienced.

"Now, Sponge, I'm sure you haven't been trawling around Bikini Bottom with bunch of fish, okay? Nothing bad is gonna happen to either of us. So do me a favor and stop freaking out because it's freaking me out!"

"O-okay…"

He looked directly into Spongebob's eyes and spoke slowly. "Now repeat after me: none of this ever happened."

"None of this ever happened." Spongebob repeated in a toneless voice.

"You were at home last night, um, polishing Gary's shell."

"I was at home last night polishing Gary's shell."

"If anyone asks, you'll tell them I'm nothing but your neighbor, and co-worker, and that is all."

"If anyone asks, I'll tell them that you're nothing." Spongebob paused, before continuing with a high-pitched voice that grew shriller with every syllable. "And that I slept with my neighbor and co-worker WITHOUT WEARING A CONDOM!"

Squidward slapped him, and Spongebob thanked him for it.

"Now that that's settled," Squidward said exasperatedly. He eyed both of their bodies, brows furrowed in thought. Nothing screamed 'POST-COITUS' more than their disheveled, sorry state of appearances. "What are we going to do about those marks?"

"Oh, you mean these?" Spongebob lifted his arms. They were covered in tracks of raised circular imprints, darkened and scattered all over his limbs and face (suspiciously leading to each pore). An unfortunate consequence of falling prey to Squidward's suction cups. "I'll just say I was trying out my home intradermal tuberculosis detection test kit. See?" Out of nowhere, he produced a medicine box that was boldly labeled so.

"Fantastic. Now get going. And you better not be seen leaving my house."

"But how am I gonna get home and get ready for work?"

Squidward smirked. "Let me help you with that."

Sore as he was, he was still able to muster the strength to toss Spongebob out the window, and with just enough aim to send him crashing through the pane of his own bedroom. "Thanks, Squidward!" Spongebob called, and a feeble "meow," was audible as Gary greeted its owner.

With one problem solved, Squidward headed for the bathroom mirror. He nearly screamed when he saw his reflection, and twisted and turned to get better views of his (there was no other word for it) tainted body. There were fingerprints around his wrists. His heart raced as he realized what a giveaway that alone was. Who else in Bikini Bottom had actual _fingers_?! Two horizontal side-by-side lines were on his neck… Stupid Spongebob and his buckteeth. On his face was a smudge of lip print from a coral blue number three semi-gloss… _How did that even get there? Spongebob wasn't even wearing lipstick._ And his suction cups were now a shade of deep purple… _Oh, wait. They were always like that._

Squidward took a bath, scrubbed himself raw, and then pulled on a brown turtleneck to hide some of the evidence. Knowing it was time to go to work, his shoulders slumped. And that's when a sharp pain shot up his back. It seemed to rebound from his neck before speeding down again, causing his knees to buckle. His legs were wobbly all of a sudden and he fought to steady himself with a grip on the sink. He groaned, cursed now with a different brand of agony.

Wanting to move as little as possible, he elected to drive to work.

As his luck would have it, Patrick was standing outside (and literally doing nothing else) as Squidward gingerly took his first steps out of his house. He pointedly ignored the seastar, who did just the opposite.

"Morning Squidward, some night you and Spongebob had, huh?" Were the first words out of his mouth, and Squidward nearly snapped his own neck while turning to look at Patrick in surprise.

His heart thundered in his chest and his voice came out panicky. "What? What are you talking about? What do you know?!"

"Huh?" Patrick looked quizzical. Well, moreso than usual. "I just heard you two last night and it's obvious whatever game you were playing, it got pretty wild. And it sounded like Spongebob was the champ!" He pumped a meaty fist in the air.

"Go away, Patrick!" Squidward growled. He tried not to wince as he sat down in the driver's seat.

"What are you so sore about?" Patrick cocked his head to one side and glanced at him, as if viewing Squidward from a slightly slanted perspective would reveal the answer.

"Sore? Me?" Squidward asked, and laughed far too loudly. "I'm not sore in any place at all. In fact, I'm currently in peak physical condition!" For some reason, he couldn't stop the nervous giggling. "And for your information, I was _winning_ so you can cease your off-base assumptions now!"

Patrick's mouth became a firm line and he mustered a glare. "Well, if you're such a good player, then let me join in on the fun next time! Spongebob and I could tagteam you to make things even."

Squidward stomped on the gas pedal upon hearing that, and drove off, leaving Patrick as nothing more than a shrinking fixture in the rear view mirror. But after accidentally conjuring some very vivid images in his brain due to Patrick's words, he had to stop by the side of the road to vomit.

"Morning, Mr. Krabs."

"G'morning, Mr. Squidward. Why are ye in a sweater? It's the middle of the summer."

He tugged at the collar nervously. "Um, drycleaning mix-up."

"Oh." Mr. Krabs didn't even blink. Instead, he drew close and said in a low voice: "Well, stay away from Spongebob. I'd know those skin marks anywhere – had 'em me-self once – there ain't anything else that looks quite like a positive tuberculosis test he's not telling anyone about."

"Sure, Mr. Krabs."

"And since Spongebob's not in top condition you especially can't sleep around on the job all day—"

"Sleep around? I _never_ sleep around," Squidward said with a nervous laugh. Panic was making him stupid but he couldn't seem to control himself. The words were out before he could stop them. "I would _never_ sleep with Spongebob!"

He clapped a hand to his own mouth, but Mr. Krabs was still oblivious. His boss merely turned away and started heading for his office. "Well neither would I, but I suppose at some point someone in Bikini Bottom's got 'ter take one for the team sooner or later. Now get 'ter work."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Squidward headed to his post and sat down behind the cash register. He was about to try and take his daily nap when a rattling noise from the kitchen caught his attention. Knowing he would regret what he was about to see, Squidward hesitantly turned around and peered through the window.

"Spongebob?"

The frycook was standing in front of the stove, but rather than flip patties, he was violently shaking in his place. So much so that his spatula wobbled and was the source of the racket. "Soiled it. Soiled it. Soiled it…" Spongebob repeated to himself, as he swayed back and forth like an anemone.

"Spongebob, you have to get a grip. We promised things would go back to normal, remember?"

"B-but I can't stop thinking about what I've done! I can't even concentrate on the Krabby Patties because every time I wrap one I think, why couldn't I have done that for myself?! I can wrap patties but I can't wrap my—Mmph!" Squidward nearly toppled through the window in his attempt to cover Spongebob's mouth with his tentacle.

"For the last time, it's fine!" He snapped, staring into his co-workers tear-filled eyes. "I'm perfectly healthy, don't you see? So please, just do your job properly so we can move on with our lives."

When Spongebob finally nodded, Squidward retracted his arm. "O-okay, I'll t-try."

Rolling his eyes, the cephalopod turned back around to find a familiar lobster posturing in front of him. For once he was spared from seeing Larry's bared crimson chest as the crustacean was currently decked out in a sports jacket on which every inch had been stamped with a company logo.

"Morning, Squidward! How do you like my new endorsements?" Squidward remained unimpressed.

"Fantastic. May I take your order."

Larry paid no heed to his words. "I was working out a few days ago and some kind gentleman noticed that my physique is not only incredible, but extremely marketable. So now I'm a brand ambassador. Guess what I'm advertising?"

"Steroids?"

"No, but here's a hint. Take some free samples!" He produced something from his pocket. Spongebob suddenly popped in through the window looking gleeful.

"FREE?" He squealed, cupping his hands together like a kid on Halloween. Larry dropped several packets into both their outstretched palms.

"Condoms?!" Squidward said in disbelief. Still, the lobster blathered on in his typical pompous tone.

"Take as many as you want, boys! If you want to live like me then—hey, wait a minute." His nose twitched, dancing up and down as crustaceans' tended to do. He stared at them both with a newfound alertness, before narrowing his eyes. "Something smells funny around here."

He let out a hearty laugh, and placed his meaty claws on his waist with a smirk. "Well, it looks like I might be a little too late! You two did it recently, didn't you?"

"No, of course not!" Squidward said, panicked, at about the same time Spongebob said "Yup, just last night, why?"

It was over, Larry knew. And like everyone else in this stupid town, he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut. Squidward would have to move, set up shop somewhere where no one knew his name and kids wouldn't whisper increasingly scandalous stories of his disturbing sexual exploits.

"Hmm," he studied them both. Squidward wondered if he could see that he was sweating bullets. "Well whoever you're sleeping with, always remember: wrap your spout! Or they'll catch the trout!" And then Larry, chuckled, and promptly left the restaurant.

"Did you come here just to advertise?!" Squidward hollered after him, shaking his fist. But the lobster was already gone. He collapsed back on his stool irritably, pulling out a magazine. "Shameless."

"Squidward, I don't want you to catch the trout!" Spongebob sobbed. Squidward had to manually grab his lips and force them closed.

"This is Larry we're talking about. All those protein shakes have melted his tiny overcooked brain. Get back to work before Mr. Krabs notices something off!"

Naturally, that's exactly when the Krusty Krab's customers started to notice that something was off.

"Hey, this patty's burnt."

"Mine's undercooked!"

"I ordered pickles but didn't get any!"

"I said 'no buns' and he gave me nothing but buns! Nine of them!"

"My Krabby Patty was given to me already unwrapped!"

"I DIDN'T WRAP IT!" Spongebob fell to the floor, landing in his own puddle of tears. "I'm sorry, oh dear Neptune, I'm a monster!"

"Spongebob!" Mr. Krabs roared as he burst through the door. He had clearly picked up the scent of employee unproductivity. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Mr. Krabs, I-I-I can't keep my head straight." Spongebob twisted his head around three times to emphasize his point.

Squidward interjected. "Mr. Krabs, maybe you should let Spongebob go home. Clearly, he's not feeling well."

"As much as I appreciate yer newfound sense of employee camaraderie, Mr. Squidward…" Mr. Krabs cast him a suspicious look and he shrank back, regretting his words immediately. "Spongebob's just having a bad case of the nerves. Now apologize to all these loyal customers and get back to work!"

"Apologize?" Spongebob wiped the remaining tear from his cheek and Mr. Krabs gestured toward the microphone. Dragging his feet toward the cash register, Spongebob propped himself next to Squidward, who gulped.

His next words echoed through the loudspeaker.

"There are a few things I need to get off my chest. I understand that being a part of the Krusty Krab means upholding a promise – and that promise is to serve each and every one of you a perfectly grilled Krabby Patty, with a smile." Fish were muttering amongst themselves as they bemusedly watched Spongebob's apology unfold.

"Now, as you can see, I haven't been doing that at all. I keep messing up. And with that, I'm sorry to all of you. You don't deserve to feast on the products of my mediocrity! Therefore, I would like to give each of you a free—" Upon noticing Mr. Krabs' glare, he backpedaled. "I mean, another Krabby Patty _at regular price_ should you forgive me. I'm sorry to you all. I'm sorry that in my state of distress, I've been undercooking and overcooking patties, and not washing my hands after going to the bathroom, and using my spatula to scratch those hard-to-reach areas on my back, and I'm just… SORRY, okay?" He sniffled, and a few 'aww's' of sympathy were heard among the crowd.

"And I would like to extend a special apology to my dear co-worker, Squidward here—"

"Spongebob, what are you doing?" He hissed.

"Don't worry, I'll be subtle," Spongebob whispered back, and winked in a manner that was the direct opposite of subtle.

He turned back to the microphone. "Last night was the single greatest night of my life, and I spent it with him!" He pointed at Squidward for good measure, and then turned to face him, microphone still in hand and eyes full of fresh tears. "But… But… Squidward, oh I'm sorry I didn't wear a condom!"

His voice dropped to a whisper as he moved closer to him. "See? I didn't _say_ what the condom was for!" And he winked at Squidward again.

Squidward went still as a board. And apparently, so did everything and everyone else inside the Krusty Krab.

But two seconds later, all hell broke loose.

At that point, scandalized mothers tried to remove their kids' ears. Some jaws dropped, others were dislocated trying to do the same thing. A particularly daring customer gave Spongebob a thumbs up and said "Yeah! Hit that!" but it was drowned out by other customers' screams. Chairs and tables spontaneously caught fire. Old Man Jenkins didn't hear a thing, and therefore didn't react. A surprised fish tripped and hurt a certain body part, and shouted out which body part precisely he had hurt. Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy shared an uncomfortable, yet knowing glance. One fish vomited, but that might have just been due to the extra four cups of grease he had ordered for his Krabby Patty. (It was the only order that, coincidentally, Spongebob had gotten right that day).

And then for the first time in the history of the Krusty Krab, a clanging sound was heard. More precisely, the clanging sound of not one, or two, but hundreds of coins clattering on the floor simultaneously. They hit the surface first, having poured out of Mr. Krabs' pocket like blood. Mr. Krabs himself followed suit, toppling over and ending up flat on his back. He had fainted.

Amidst the commotion, Patrick had just taken a bite out of his Krabby Patty, and was munching on it while sporting his typical half-lidded gaze. Mouth full of bun, his voice came out muffled.

"Squidward's a girl?"


End file.
